


The Uniform

by Chichirinoda



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-29
Updated: 2009-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-14 08:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chichirinoda/pseuds/Chichirinoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk and Spock get a shiny new mission from Starfleet, but there's a bit of a twist and Kirk might enjoy it just a <i>little</i> too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Uniform

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) prompt "Roleplay/AU (domestic/tradesman)".

Jim Kirk slapped the data pad down in front of Spock as he dropped himself into a chair across from him. The mess hall was, as usual, noisy and alive with conversation even during the breakfast hour, but Spock seemed somehow to create an island of serenity around himself and none of the tables immediately around him were taken.

It may have been the fact that he appeared to be playing a very complex game of 3-dimensional chess against himself. Maybe no one wanted to risk being challenged to play against him. Even though they had only been assigned to the Enterprise a matter of weeks, Spock's chess prowess was already legendary.

Kirk's first officer quirked an eyebrow and waited a beat before picking up the pad and beginning to read. Kirk tried to keep quiet, but he couldn't resist spoiling the surprise.

"Our next mission," he said, struggling to keep a fiendish grin off of his lips. "Just came in from HQ."

"I can see that," Spock intoned, eyeing him with a definite air of suspicion. "A diplomatic envoy mission to Thelonius III."

"Right," Kirk agreed cheerfully. "The Thelonians recently developed interstellar space travel and the Federation made first contact a couple of months ago. We want to establish more permanent relations with them. The Thelonians are pretty new to this whole thing, though. They've still got some pretty backwards beliefs."

"Much like humans," Spock deadpanned, eyes narrowing. "This does not explain the reasons for your behaviour, Captain."

"Well," Kirk said, jumping to his feet again. "I just wanted to inform you that we'd received the mission. And of course you'll be accompanying me on the away team. The Thelonians won't have it any other way."

"I see," said Spock. He glanced down at the pad again, eyes moving rapidly as he began to absorb the contents, and Kirk knew it was definitely time to beat a hasty retreat before he got to the punch line.

"Your special uniform for this mission will be delivered to your cabin before we leave. Be ready to beam down by 1800 hours," Kirk said.

Spock looked up, confusion writ large across his face. "'Special uniform'?"

"You heard me," Kirk said, completely failing to contain a huge, shit-eating grin.

He reached out and moved a bishop from the bottom platform to the top. "Checkmate," he added, then turned and strode out of the mess hall, Spock's raised eyebrow burning a hole between his shoulder blades the whole way.

~ ~ ~

The worst part for Spock was the way Engineer Scott's lips kept twitching as he entered the coordinates for beaming, though Nyota's earlier rant about the Captain's questionable lineage when she saw the uniform made a close second. Nyota was, thankfully, on the bridge coordinating with the Thelonians now, or she'd probably still be ranting. Spock didn't think he could handle that storm of human emotions a second time in one day.

But he wasn't about to let it go this easily, either. Surely Kirk would respond to logic if presented in the right way.

"Sir," he said. The high collar of the shirt constricted his airway slightly, but he struggled not to let it affect him. "Does it not make more sense for me to accompany you in my usual garb? Like this, I will not be able to use my not-inconsiderable expertise as a diplomat to assist you."

Kirk shook his head firmly. "No, Spock. This frees you up to watch and listen. You may be surprised by what you learn."

"But sir, I am of nearly equal rank to yourself. The Thelonians may get the wrong impression. There are many ensigns amongst the security personnel who would be more appropriate for such an assignment," Spock argued desperately.

"Spock." Kirk stepped down from the transporter pad and placed his hands on Spock's shoulders. Involuntarily, Spock flinched as emotion battered his shields, even through the layers of clothing he wore. There was amusement, certainly, but suddenly he sensed Kirk's sincerity as well. The Captain was having a blast, but this was no joke, either. He believed his own arguments.

"The Thelonians put a hell of a lot of stock in servants. They won't take me seriously for a moment unless I demonstrate that I'm important and influential enough to have a manservant following me around everywhere I go. The last envoy failed for that reason. I can't ignore that - for the good of the mission."

"Yes sir, that information was in the file you gave me," Spock said tightly.

"Right, so we could do it your way, but then we'd both need manservants," Kirk went on expansively, letting go of Spock to gesture with his hands. "The Thelonians might not really understand who to deal with, and it could get complicated. Rank doesn't mean anything to them, so telling them that you're my first officer and I'm the Captain means nothing if they decide you seem more competent."

Spock's eyebrow rose, and Kirk seemed to pause for a moment as if realizing what he'd said. The Captain's lips quirked self-deprecatingly, but he went on after only a beat, unfazed. "We need to keep this simple for now, and later introduce them to the idea that we don't _do_ the servant thing anymore, once relations are stable and they're more open-minded and likely to accept that different cultures just do things differently."

Spock was losing the battle and he knew it. It was hard to surrender, though. "But Captain--"

"Besides," Kirk went on doggedly. "We don't know for sure the Thelonians are all friendly. Even if they are, they might try to split us up. But from what we know of their culture, they wouldn't separate a man from his servant. I need you with me if something happens."

Spock sagged, just a fraction. The Captain might be arrogant, brash and driven by his passions, but he was also exceptionally bright. And he had thought this through.

"I understand, Captain," Spock said stiffly. Kirk beamed and clapped Spock on the shoulder before leaping back up onto the transporter pad, full of energy.

Spock took his own place, next to him and slightly behind. The traditional English butler uniform was restrictive and itched a little, and he wondered if something did happen whether he'd be able to get at the phaser concealed in his clothing in time to do any good.

Before he could really finish that thought, Montgomery Scott cleared his throat. "Ready to beam down Cap'n," he said. "The Thelonians have prepared some kinda ceremony to greet ya, and they've designated a spot for you to appear."

"Very good, Scotty," Kirk said, drawing himself up slightly. For the first time, Spock wondered if the Captain was nervous. "Beam us down."

Scott touched the controls and the transporter beam caught them, and whipped all further thought away for a time.

~ ~ ~

Kirk had had an exhausting evening. Oh, the Thelonians seemed friendly enough, and they sure knew how to throw a party - and of course, even if it had been the worst party ever, it would have been worth every minute to be waited on hand and foot by a stoney-faced Spock.

Of course, he had never entertained the possibility that Spock would drop his cover, no matter the provocation. The emotionless Vulcan persona was perfect for a manservant and while Spock's face grew more and more wooden as the evening wore on, that was only in character.

On the other hand, Kirk was pretty sure he was plotting revenge somewhere between those pointy ears. At the very least, it was for when Kirk had said, in response to a question about how long he'd had 'his man', that he was still fairly new and he was still training him up. That had been after he and the Thelonian proconsul had cracked open their third bottle of the local wine.

He was leaning heavily on Spock as they walked from the banquet hall to the room the Thelonians had prepared for them. Of course, Spock was completely sober.

"Not far now, Captain," the Vulcan murmured. "I presume they will have a bed for me to sleep on as well, or do they assume I will sleep on a pile of rags in the corner?"

"Dunno," Kirk said cheerfully, leaning a little closer. Spock had a nice neck. And nice ears. The neck went very well with the ears. "If you don't like the rags, maybe you can sleep in my bed."

This seemed like a grand idea, all of a sudden.

Spock stiffened slightly. "I doubt that that would be required, sir," he said slowly.

They paused for a moment and Spock shifted his weight, holding Kirk tightly with one hand as he opened the door with the other. The room beyond was lavish beyond what Kirk had expected, and he pulled away from Spock to inspect it, wobbling a little from the enormous four-poster bed to the claw-foot bathtub in the corner, complete with an array of oils and other pampering products.

There was a smaller cot in one corner. So Spock did have a place to sleep after all. Pity.

"I like this planet," Kirk said cheerfully. "Spock, get me a glass of water, would you? And then you can rub my feet." He plunked himself down in a chair and put his feet up on the divan expectantly.

Spock stared at him for a few beats before replying. "Sir, I don't believe it's necessary--"

"Hey, for all we know there's, like, surveillance and stuff," Kirk said earnestly. "What'll they think if we start acting funny when we believe we're alone?"

Spock seemed to think about this, then he turned away with a slight bow. "Just a moment, sir," he said coldly, his face all stony again.

This was fun.

A glass of water in hand - hopefully to help stave off the coming hangover - and his boots off, Kirk luxuriated as Spock rubbed oil into his aching feet. Who knew that diplomacy would require that much standing? There had been a tour, and then speeches - most of which people stood up during, or stood up after to applaud. Then Kirk had had to make a speech. Then there had been dinner, which didn't require standing up, but after that they had done a lot of mingling, a little dancing, and more mingling. Kirk was bushed, but his mind was buzzing, too keyed up from the knowledge of how important this mission was to sleep.

The foot massage was doing wonders, though. He moaned softly as Spock dug his long-fingered hands into the balls of his feet, working the oil into his skin. The Vulcan glanced up at him. Kirk sensed he was studying his face, but the Captain was just enjoying watching him kneel there on the floor, rubbing his hands over his feet while wearing that unbelievably sexy, old-fashioned suit.

"What?" Kirk said, then bit down on another moan of pleasure. "You've got great hands."

Spock's eyes narrowed. "So I am told," he said in a clipped tone.

"I guess Uhura tells you that," Kirk said smugly. "Right?"

This time, Spock didn't even deign to reply, bending his head again and pressing his thumbs just a bit harder than necessary into the arch of Kirk's foot. Kirk gripped the arms of his chair to keep his hands from reaching out towards the Vulcan.

"I think perhaps it is time for you to go to bed, Captain," Spock said presently. The sound of his first officer's voice jolted Kirk out of a pleasant haze that could easily have been mistaken for a doze to the untrained eye, and Kirk blinked at Spock for a moment before comprehending what he'd said.

"Oh yeah... sounds good," he yawned. "Help me?"

Spock huffed a faint sigh, then got to his feet and slipped his arms around Kirk. His warm, strong arms... oh yeah. Right.

It was then that Kirk woke up enough to remember his earlier line of thought. When Spock bent a little deeper to help Kirk up from the chair, Kirk wrapped his arms around Spock's neck and dragged him down those last few inches to kiss him.

The kiss was a little sloppy, owing to Kirk's inebriation and Spock's surprise. The Vulcan's lips were stiff for a moment, though they slowly loosened as if against his own will. Spock dropped a hand down to the bed to steady himself as Kirk drew out the kiss, slipping his tongue along his lips and nibbling at Spock's lower lip as he leaned back against the chair.

"Captain..." Spock murmured, half surprised, half impatient.

"You look... _really_ hot in that suit," Kirk said fervently, eyes bright. He loosened one hand from around Spock's shoulders and ran it down the front, over each button. He wanted Spock to take it off.

No, he _didn't_ want Spock to take it off.

"Captain, I don't think--"

"Hush," Kirk hissed. He didn't want to hear it. He _knew_ this was a terrible idea. Uhura was going to castrate him. _Spock_ was going to castrate him.

Then again, Spock could have thrown Kirk against the nearest wall when he kissed him, but he didn't. Maybe Uhura was going to castrate both of them.

Well, that would be later. Kirk could be charming. He'd just convince her not to do it. Somehow.

Spock was still looking at him quizzically, but he _still_ hadn't pulled away. Kirk hesitated for a moment, but hell, you only lived once, right?

"Bring me another glass of water," Kirk said, gesturing offhandedly to the empty glass beside him. "And I want a plate of crackers and stuff. There's some food on the sideboard, isn't there?"

Spock frowned. "Captain, I really think that you should go to bed."

Kirk smirked faintly. "But I'm not sleepy yet. Don't I decide when I go to bed? I'm not a little kid."

The look on Spock's face told him that the Vulcan wasn't so sure of that, but he picked up the glass and carried it over to the room's sideboard, which was laid out with bottles of alcohol, and had a fridge as well which Kirk was convinced was stuffed with food.

Kirk watched Spock's backside fixedly as he walked. The long suit jacket covered it, yet it shifted nicely anyway. Besides, Kirk had a fertile imagination. It wasn't difficult to picture that firm ass and how it would move in the nicely tailored pants.

Spock set the glass down on the sideboard and picked up a sweating water jug, pouring the ice-cold water into the glass with precise, unhurried movements. Kirk slid a hand down his own thigh and then up again, shifting in the chair. How precise and perfect Spock was in everything he did. What would it be like to make him lose control, lose that poise?

What would it take to make him do it?

He unzipped his pants and Spock looked around at the sound, his hand freezing in the act of lowering the jug again. "Captain, what are you doing?"

"Hmm, don't mind me," Kirk purred, drawing his cock out of his underwear and stroking it slowly, rubbing the half-hard shaft between thumb and palm.

Spock was staring at him, and Kirk waved a hand at him with faint impatience. "Go on, finish what you're doing."

Slowly, Spock turned his back on Kirk again, setting the jug down and opening the fridge. He moved a bit more jerkily now, his movements a little faster. Was he angry? Nervous? Did it arouse him to know that his Captain was jerking himself off only a few feet away?

Kirk imagined that Spock was at least a little hard. I mean, who wouldn't be?

He was hard as a rock now, almost aching as he moved his hand a little faster over his own shaft. Spock turned around again, cup and plate in hand, his eyes trained carefully on Kirk's face as if he were trying to pretend that Kirk wasn't masturbating quite openly and in full view.

"Put...put it on a tray," Kirk murmured. "Carry it properly, like you're supposed to."

"I have never waitressed," Spock hissed softly, but turned around again and pulled a tray from a cupboard, placing glass and plate on top and then balancing the whole thing on his outstretched hand.

Kirk watched him avidly, stroking harder and faster as Spock approached. Was there a faint flush of green on Spock's cheeks? Kirk himself was definitely overheated, and he reached left-handed for the glass of water the moment Spock set it down beside him without taking his right off of his own member.

"Now...I don't know... do something," Kirk gasped. He drank deeply from the water glass and set it down, then gestured. "Clean something, or...I don't know. _Fuck_."

Spock bowed his head faintly. "Yes, sir, of course," and turned before Kirk could decide if the smirk on his face were real or imagined.

The Vulcan moved towards the bed and bent, making a show of pulling back the covers, tying up the curtains, fluffing the pillows. Each movement seemed strangely calculated, and was drawn out longer than it needed to be. Or it seemed to Kirk that it was, anyway.

Kirk gasped for breath, groaning as he watched each movement. Without much more encouragement than that, he shuddered as he spilled himself over his own hand, fluid spattering the dress uniform he still wore.

He slumped into the chair, panting, and in a moment Spock was beside him.

"Now, Captain, I think it really _is_ time for you to go to bed," Spock said severely. He bent and hoisted Kirk into the air with as much effort as lifting a child, and before Kirk could protest, he was dropped unceremoniously into bed.

"H-hey!" he protested. "You're supposed to be--"

"Good night, Captain," Spock said, and extinguished the lights. "I do believe you've had quite enough fun at my expense for one evening."

There was a definite pout on Kirk's face as he worked his way out of the soiled uniform and pulled the covers up. "Yeah, well, you're going to have to do my laundry tomorrow, don't forget."

"Indeed," Spock said. From the direction and distance of his voice, it sounded like he was lying on the cot. "And I shall not accidentally leave a red sock in when I put your dress uniform in the machine."

Kirk hesitated. Maybe pissing the hired help off wasn't a very good idea.

"Okay, I'm sorry. But I can't help it that you're hot in that uniform," he muttered.

"Good night, Jim," Spock said tiredly, and before Kirk could come up with anything else to say, he was asleep.


End file.
